


The Chatelaine of Brouncker Road

by Bremol



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, might be a bit of s6 spoilers but only a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 21:12:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5717296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bremol/pseuds/Bremol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little symbolism. Elsie wore a chatelaine as the housekeeper - now she <i>is</i> the Chatelaine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chatelaine of Brouncker Road

**Author's Note:**

> The titled popped into my head as I was watching an episode of Murder, She Wrote set in Ireland. Jessica's friend says, "I'm the chatelaine of here," or something to that effect, and it struck me - Elsie will be the chatelaine of their Brouncker Road B&B. I'm not sure how good this is, I feel like I was going round in circles writing it. It's Christmasy so I suppose it fits with the season.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was the Carson’s first Christmas season as proprietors of their bed and breakfast at the house on Brouncker road. Charles was out and about picking out the perfect Christmas tree to go with the ornaments the Crawleys had offered to let them look through that were sitting unused in the attic at Downton. Which is where Elsie found herself.

Up to her nose in dust, sneezing as she pulled down an old box marked _ornaments_ , she sighed as she sat down on a crate and opened the box. A smile played on her lips at the first ornament she came across. She remembered her first Christmas at the Abbey. Lady Edith hadn’t been but a small lass of about four, all rosy cheeks and golden curls.

The young lass had wanted the butler’s attention to help her hang her ornament, but he’d been too busy helping Lady Mary. She could still remember the look on Lady Edith’s face as big tears began to pool in her eyes. Elsie had found herself rather annoyed with the man. The young lady deserved as much attention as her sister.

_“Here, Lass. Would you like my help? I’m not as tall as Mr. Carson, but I’m very good at finding just the right spot for little lady’s ornaments.”_

_Edith blinked up at the housemaid. She’d not heard her talking since she’d arrived and the little lady was shocked at how different the pretty housemaid’s accent was to those she was used to. “Oh yes, please,” she finally whispered._

_Elsie smiled and held out her hand. “I’m Elsie and I believe you are Lady Edith.”_

_The little girl blinked up at Elsie wide eyed. “You know my name?”_

_Elsie felt a pull at her heartstrings at the surprise on the little girl’s face. She was so accustomed to being overlooked for her sister that even the attention of a servant was welcome. “I do. I also know that you are four years old and that this is the first Christmas you’ve been allowed to help decorate the tree.”_

_Edith’s eyes grew wide. “What else do you know about me?”_

_Elsie chuckled as she led the girl around the tree, finding just the spot for the ornament. She knew that it was a better place than the one that the young Lady Mary had insisted Mr. Carson lift her up to, making it too high to be noticed first. “Here we go,” she whispered and pointed at the spot._

_“Are you sure? Mary’s is so much higher.”_

_Elsie bent down and whispered in the young girl’s ear. “It’s much too high. They’ll see yours first.”_

_Edith smiled and nodded her head. “Can you lift me so I can hang it?”_

_“I can.” Elsie winked then lifted the girl up, laughing as her childish giggles filled the room. Elsie caught the scowl from the butler and knew that she would be hearing about her interference once she was back below stairs, but the delight of the child in her arms was worth the scolding she was sure to get from the butler and the housekeeper._

Elsie rolled her eyes as she remembered the blustering the butler had done later that night because the blessed Lady Mary’s ornament hadn’t been noticed before Lady Edith’s. She’d been schooled on the importance of the first born, how it was her right to have prominence of place, and on and on. Mrs. Johnson had then given out extra duties as punishment.

It hadn’t stopped Elsie from doing it again. Of course, after the first three years, she’d been the housekeeper and had merely stood and listened to the butler huff and puff then rolled her eyes and gone about her business.

Turning her attention back to the box, Elsie reached in and pulled out another ornament that held even more meaning and brought tears to her eyes.

Tom, having come up to ask if he could help, watched Elsie and frowned when he noticed the tears appear on her cheeks as she looked down at the ornament she’d just pulled from the box. Walking into the room, he reached out and let his hand rest on Elsie’s shoulder. “Mrs. Carson? What is it?”

Elsie started then looked up at the young man, wiping hastily at her cheeks with her free hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Branson. Just being sentimental.”

Sitting down on a dusty trunk, Tom looked down at the ornament she held in her hand. “What is it about that ornament that makes you sad?”

Elsie swallowed as she looked back to the small object in her hand. “It was Lady Sybil’s first ornament. She asked me to help her make it.”

Tom felt his own eyes water as he reached out to trace the worn object. “What is it?”

“It’s supposed to be Lady Sybil.” Elsie chuckled then sniffed.

“Tell me?”

“Each of the girls were allowed to hang their own ornament at the age of four. Lady Mary had insisted on an ornament from London. Lady Edith had been satisfied with a trip to the village with her mother. Lady Sybil insisted on making her own. She was told no, that they would take her to the village to buy one. That resulted in the child being sent to bed in tears. Only,”

“She didn’t stay there.” Tom guessed, knowing his Sybil’s rebel streak.

“No. She didn’t. She snuck down to my sitting room. I found her curled up in my chair asleep. When I woke her, the first thing she did was wrap her arms around my neck and tell me I just had to help her, that her sister Edith had said that I would.”

“And why would Edith have told her that?”

“Because I’d helped a young Lady Edith hang her first ornament.”

Tom smirked. “Let me guess, hers was noticed before Mary’s.”

Elsie nodded, a small smirk playing on her own lips. “Yes. I was only head housemaid at the time, and received quite the scolding from the butler, then the housekeeper assigned me extra duties.”

“Mr. Carson?”

“Yes, he was butler when I came. It was only two years later that I was housekeeper.”

“And Mary never took the spot?”

“Of course she did, but where Mr. Carson was led by the child, I led Lady Edith.”

“So is that why Mary has never cared much for you?”

Elsie blinked in surprise that the young man would ask such a thing, or even admit as much. “Yes, well, that’s where it started. I’ve never been her favorite person.”

“Back to Sybil. She came to you because of Edith?”

“Yes, and she asked me to help her make an ornament. I knew that the family had told her no, but those big, dark eyes of hers were staring up at me with such trust that I’d help her as I had her big sister,” Elsie shrugged.

“And you couldn’t tell her no.”

Elsie shook her head. “Where Lady Mary is Mr. Carson’s weakness, I suppose Lady Sybil was mine. I asked her what she’d like to make and she told me, “Me.” You can imagine my response.”

Tom laughed and nodded. “A raised eyebrow and a bit of a startled huff.”

“You know me too well, Lad.”

Tom smiled at the slip, not bothering to point it out so as not to embarrass the woman he held dear. “What did she want exactly?”

“Well, I asked her what she meant. She explained that she never got to look at the tree long enough and if we made a little Sybil, that she could look at the tree after the three sisters had been sent to bed.”

Tom laughed and shook his head, his own tears spilling down his cheeks. “Mrs. Carson, would you mind if I brought Sybie to see you so that you can tell her the story and give her the ornament?”

Elsie felt tears pool in her eyes again as she nodded. “I would be honored to tell her the story. The ornament belongs to her and shouldn’t be stuffed in an old dusty attic.”

 

~*~

 

Charles frowned at the knock on the door. They weren’t due any guests until the following day. “Elsie, love, are you expecting visitors?”

“I am. Let them in, Charlie.”

Charles sighed at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue. He’d never thought he would like being called Charlie after his embarrassing years as part of the Cheerful Charlies, but that was before he’d heard his wife say the name.

“Charlie! Let them in out of the cold!”

Charles shook himself out of his mind’s wanderings and hurried to the door, raising an eyebrow in surprise at who was standing on the other side. “Mr. Branson.”

“And me, Carson! And me!”

Carson smiled at the young lady. “Ah yes, Miss Sybie.” He winked then moved to the them in. “Come in and warm yourselves. Mrs. Carson says she’s expecting you.”

“I take it, you weren’t.” Tom said with a chuckle as he bent down to put Sybie on the floor. “Let’s take your coat off, Love.”

“Would you like my help, Miss Sybie?” Charles asked when the girl looked up at him, squirming away from her father.

“Yes, please, Carson.”

“Sybie, not in his own home. He’s not our butler anymore.”

“I know that, Papa, but,” she bit her lower lip making Tom look up at Charles in surprise.

“But what?” Tom asked, turning his attention back to his daughter.

“But I never got the chance for Carson to take off my coat and that means I never got to say thank you.”

Charles bent over and helped the girl off with her coat. “There you are, my lady.”

“Thank you, Carson.”

Charles winked as he straightened back to his full height and hung Sybie’s coat up. “Now, why don’t we go see what my missus is up to, hmm?” he asked and held out his hand.

Tom watched as Charles clasped Sybie’s little hand and shortened his stride so she could keep up as they walked. He imagined it was the way the older man had been with Sybil when she’d happen to catch his attention away from Mary.

Taking his package from the pocket of his coat, he hung the garment up then made his way to the kitchen, following the sound of his daughter’s laughter.

“And what have we here?” Tom asked as he stepped into the warm room, the smell of freshly baked biscuits and hot chocolate assailing his senses.

“Papa, look!” Sybie held up the biscuit in her hand. “Biscuits in the shape of Christmas trees!”

Tom nodded and winked at his daughter. “So it is, though I think something is wrong with the tree.”

Sybie looked down then grinned up at her father. “Silly, Papa. I bit the top off!”

Elsie laughed as she caressed the girl’s head. “What do you say we offer your papa some chocolate and biscuits, hmm?”

Sybie nodded. “Oh yes, Mrs. Carson. Papa likes biscuits.”

Tom laughed and nodded. “That I do, Sybie.” Taking a seat beside his daughter, he placed the package on the table. “But first, what do you say we give Mrs. Carson her gift?”

Sybie’s eyes lit up as her little head bobbed up and down. “May I, Papa? You said she has a story for me about my mummy and that she was going to give me something that belonged to Mummy. Can’t I give her this for that?”

“Yes, Love. Go on then.”

Elsie sat down beside Charles and took the folded note from the gift, reading it before she opened the package. Her eyes filled with tears as she read Tom’s heartfelt words.

“Here, Love.” Charles whispered as he handed Elsie his handkerchief.

“Thank you,” she managed then opened the package, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“A chatelaine for the Chatelaine.” Tom smiled when Elsie looked up at him. “It’s one that Sybie and I found in London.”

“I’m not quite sure I understand.” Elsie lifted the fine silver up into her hands, knowing that it was far above any chatelaine she’d had over the years.

“Now that you have your own place that you are mistress of, you are the Chatelaine. I,” Tom paused and looked down at the table. “It has always been a symbol of you, Mrs. Carson. The sound of your keys gave me comfort from the moment I heard them and all through those horrible months after losing my dear Sybil. I’d hear the tinkling, and suddenly I was calm, listening to their music, knowing that you were walking the halls, making sure we were safe and looked after.” Looking back up, Tom found that Elsie was blurry through his tears. “I wanted your guests to have the same comfort.”

Elsie wiped her eyes again, clasping Charles’ hand when he reached out. “Oh Mr. Branson,” she whispered.

“He’s right. Many a young lad and lass in our charge thought the same. I always felt comforted by the sound.”

“Sybil always listened for them before going to sleep at night.”

“Whatever for?”

“The same. She would listen for your keys and for Mr. Carson’s footsteps. Until she’d heard both, she would lay awake. I asked her once why, and her answer was that she didn’t know she was safe until she’d heard them. I never understood until later when she was gone and all that was left was my broken heart and Sybie.”

Sybie reached out and hugged her father. “I love you, Papa. Don’t be sad.”

“I love you, too, Love. Now, let’s give Mrs. Carson a chance to tell her story, hmm?”

“Oh yes.” Sybie bit her lip. “Is it really about my mummy?”

Elsie wiped the rest of her tears away and smiled at the little girl. “It is. It’s about the first Christmas she got to help decorate the tree.”

Charles moved from the table long enough to get the promised hot chocolate for Mr. Branson then settled in to listen as his wife told the story of the young Lady Sybil and her ornament. He remembered that, remembered how he’d treated Elsie for daring to go against the family’s wishes. Now that he knew his wife better, knew her secrets, he wasn’t as surprised by her actions as he had been back then.

Lady Sybil had been his wife’s favorite, but it was more than that.

It was simply because she was a child asking for something that no one seemed to be listening to. It had been the same with the four year old Lady Edith.

Elsie’s tender heart couldn’t stand seeing any child ignored in favor of another. Years of seeing it happen to her sister, he supposed, had made her determined to not let it happen – no matter that she’d gotten in trouble every time she’d done it until she was the housekeeper.

Charles looked down at the chatelaine that lay on the table in front of his wife. It was more finely crafted than any she’d ever had. It was delicate and sturdy all in the lines and workmanship that had gone in to its creation.

Much like his wife.

He smiled as he looked back at her. Yes, Elsie was the Chatelaine of Brouncker Road, but she was also the Chatelaine of Charles Carson’s heart.


End file.
